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So You Got Dumped: The Five Stages Of Eating Your Feelings

We hate to be the bearer of bad news, but some day, eventually, you might get dumped. Maybe you’ll see it coming. Maybe you won’t. But there is at least one upside to living the single life: you can decide wherever you want to eat, whenever you want to eat, and you’ll never be stuck going to that dirty burger place Seth liked so much.

But breakups are hard, and odds are, you’re headed towards the five stages of grief washed down with a lot of vodka martinis. Some stages might pass more quickly than others, but you’ll hit all of them along the way. So here’s an idea of where to eat on your journey back to the old you.

denial

Single? What? No way. You have a date at Bar Crudo. You grab two seats at the bar and put your bag on one. “Someone’s sitting here” you tell the annoyed couple eyeing the bar stool. Ryan’s just stuck at work. Order a crudo sampler for two. He’s on his way, for sure. Hmmmm you ate all the crudo. He just texted he’s getting in an Uber. Order the uni toast and the roasted octopus to tide you over. Traffic is bad. He’s taking FOREVER. Another glass of wine? Why not. Oh, f*ck it just get the check.

Just having a solo day, living your best life, crushing some ‘grams. Sarah said you needed to take better care of yourself (RUDE), but she totally won’t mind that you just ate nine cruffins. Love is eternal. Grab a few of the insane chocolate chip cookies to bring home. For her.

Anger

OKAY. Maybe this one’s on you. How did you not realize Becca wasn’t actually having ‘book club’ every Friday and sometimes ended up getting tired and sleeping at Kayleigh’s? Have a nice life. When your relationship hits a similar landmine, trudge down Market Street to Taqueria Cancun. Order a burrito mojado and consume ragefully. Wander the streets shouting into the void and throw your leftovers at pigeons.

Time to go to a place full of happy people and project your anger upon them. Also, who thought baking bread into adorable animal shapes was a thing? No one wants a stupid bread turtle. Fuck no, there’s a teddy bear. Order as many loaves as you can carry. Rip the carb animals into shreds and feed them to seagulls. Order a bread bowl full of chowder and eat four spoonfuls. Dump the rest on the first moron you see with a selfie stick. Preferably a couple. BREAKUPS SUCK.

bargaining

Alright, time to be an adult. No more trying to tip over the parking enforcement tricycle car people and their damn bike helmets. Hasn’t worked so far. Souvla is a very reasonable place to eat pricewise, they serve kale drenched in delicious yogurt dressing, and the roasted lamb gyros are spectacular. This is a spot where you can calmly eat alone and weigh the pros and cons of being single. Maybe even start to plan a solo trip to Greece. Allison never wanted to go there anyways.

You have lots of time on your hands now. No need to cheer on Craig in his idiot Zog football games anymore. Head to Alta to grab a drink, some excellent deviled eggs and after a few more drinks, a burger. Eavesdrop on Uber people talking deals and make long, lingering eye contact with a guy who really looks like Jack Dorsey. He still has a beard right? There’s still hope for you. Craig would have really liked this burger.

Another perk of the single life: no need to share your oysters with anyone. Especially not with Jessica. But forget about her for a little bit and enjoy your mountains of shellfish and the beautiful view. You could get used to this.

depression

So this is how it ends. You get stabbed with a needle while eating a Thickburger topped with jalapeno poppers slumped on the sidewalk of Market Street. At least you don’t have to worry about high cholesterol when life isn’t worth living anymore. Goodbye cruel world.

Fried Twinkies is what you deserve. Sven was out of your league and you should have known it all along. I mean, he was from actual SWEDEN for God’s sake. Weep into your Spaghettios. Think about ordering a Shotgun Wedding cocktail but that only makes you cry harder. Your four weeks with him were so beautiful. Mozzarella sticks are $4, so you might be here a while.

acceptance

Party. Time. Single and ready to tingle. Drink all the rum and celebrate LIFE. Don’t fall into the pool in the middle and it’ll be a great night. Royal Pupu platter for one and a scorpion bowl for two (one straw, please). Nope Talbot, you were wrong. This place isn’t tacky. It’s heaven.

No more staying in to catch up on The Good Wife. Karaoke is your favorite and no one can stop you. Sushi is also your favorite. Ryoko’s is the beautiful blend of both of those things, and it’s in a basement charmingly set between Union Square and the Tenderloin so the odds of seeing someone you know are low. Unless you’re friends with people who leave Yelp reviews including references to “hawt chix." High health score, full stomach, can’t lose.

Remember that time you took Rob’s parents to The Progress and his mom wouldn’t eat anything she didn’t recognize so it was horrible and awkward and you got obscenely wine drunk to deal with it? Ok, so maybe you only sort of remember it. That was then. This is now. You own the bar at The Progress. You just got the bartender’s number and the family style menu for one.

Time to strut your stuff and find a nice banker in a suit. Tech bros are so 2015. Wells Fargo is the new Uber. Order up a charcuterie plate and a cocktail and soak in the single life. Tinder in one hand, cured meat in the other, and a bevy of options in the booth across the way. Life is good.